


Long Have I Wandered

by Meraad



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Past Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:55:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraad/pseuds/Meraad
Summary: Thom Rainier finally joined the Warden's after his obligation to the Inquisition was fulfilled. He has spent the last few years traveling, doing what he can to help people. When he arrives in Denerim and unexpectedly meets the Hero of Ferelden, a woman who he has heard countless heroic tales of, as she prepares to enter the Deep Roads one final time. Thom finds himself reluctant to leave, no matter how much she might want him to.
Relationships: Blackwall | Thom Rainier/Female Warden
Comments: 10
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

“Oh, you’re a Grey Warden,” the young dwarven girl behind the counter said and Thom Rainier looked at her. Her soft rounded features made her look far younger than she likely was. He frowned for a moment, wondering what had given him away. Then his hand went to his hip, where the Warden Constable badge hung from his belt, usually concealed by his cloak, but it had slipped back, revealing the griffon crest. Her dark eyes were wide as she looked up at him and then worry contorted her face. “Oh, no, does this mean there is going to be another blight? Are there darkspawn? My Pa, he used to fight darkspawn, at least, that’s what he used to say. I never believed him, because he also told me he knew the Hero of Ferelden and that he had loved her once.” 

Her tone was full of wonder and she spoke so quickly that it took moments for Thom’s mind to process her words. “Why would you think there is another blight? Has someone seen any darkspawn?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh, I don’t know about that, I haven’t heard, but the other Grey Warden, she’s been here nearly two months, camps out near an old entrance to the Deep Roads.” 

Thom hoped that wasn’t the case. After all that Thedas had been through in the last fifteen or so years, they needed some peace and calm for a good long while before another blight. “Where is this old entrance? I’d like to speak with this Warden.”

“Oh, she’s over there,” the girl subtly gestured to a table in the corner of the room and Thom looked. A figure sat, hood drawn up over their head, carefully positioned in the corner so that no one might come up behind them. Ordering a drink, Thom thanked the girl before making his way to the table, curious. 

“Excuse me,” he said as he approached the table. “I am Warden Thom Rainier.” Even after all these years, the words sometimes still felt odd on his tongue. For so long he’d pretended to be Warden Blackwall. The woman stiffened, head still down and he frowned.

“What do you want?” came her snarled reply. 

Perhaps the girl had been incorrect in her assessment and this woman was not a Grey Warden, or more likely, she’d heard of him and his past and like so many others found him to be despicable. “I don’t mean to intrude,” he told her. "But the young girl behind the counter is under the impression that you were a warden and was concerned that there might be another blight coming.” Setting down his drink he pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down, absolutely intruding.

_ Shit _ , Svara thought.  _ A big, steaming pile of nug shit _ . Rainier sat down, sipping his drink and the girl, she knew.  **Shit** . Svara knew she’d stayed too long in Denerim, but she hadn’t thought that anyone would notice her. How had the girl realized she was even a warden? And Rainier. Had he been tracking her? Had Leliana tasked him with finding her?

Arms over her chest, head still down low she watched as he sat back in his chair, the picture of ease. But she knew better. This man was a warrior, and she’d bet her best sword, he was completely aware of every movement in the room and could launch himself up from his repose in the blink of an eye. “No blight,” she said.

“Then why camp near an old entrance to the deep roads?”

For a long moment, Svara remained still. Rainier took a drink, set the mug back down, and then slowly she lifted her head. His mouth opened, lips parting and then he just stared. She knew what he saw. Dark veins that twisted up the right side of her throat, over her jaw and along her cheek. Her right eye was completely white, the lyrium blue iris covered by a milky film that had left her almost completely blind in that eye. 

Traveling to Denerim had been a mistake. But she’d been unable to talk herself out of it. One last task, one little thing, and then she could return to the deep roads one final time. “Maker,” he breathed out and the corner of her mouth twisted up into a wry smile.

“You have your answer?” she asked, finishing the last of her ale before standing up, tossing a coin on the table for the girl, then heading for the door. As she stepped out into the cool night air, Svara tipped her head back causing her worn gray hood to fall away as she drew in a deep breath.  _ You’ve tarried long enough _ , she thought, looking up at the dark night sky, the stars twinkling above. The girl was safe, happy enough in this life that her former lover had managed to carve out for himself in the wake of so much betrayal and tragedy. 

Letting out a sharp whistle, she started down the road. Behind her, she heard the tavern door open, then heavy footsteps as Rainier’s long strides easily caught up with her. “Wait,” he said. At that moment there was a rustling in the bush, he turned, hand on the hilt of his sword just as the old mabari padded out. Her muzzle was almost completely white and she moved much slower these days, but she made her way over to stand beside Svara, looked up at Rainier, and made a quiet harrumphing sound. 

“What?” she asked, a hand reaching out to rub the top of the dog’s head as she leaned heavily against Svara’s side.

Rainier stood there for a moment, silent, then gave his head a little shake. “You’re planning on going into the deep roads.” It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t respond. “The Hero of Ferelden, she’s been looking for a cure,” he told her.

Svara bit back the bitter laugh that wanted to escape. “Who told you that?” she asked.

“Lady Nightengale initially, but it is common knowledge amongst the other Wardens I have met.” 

Svara canted her head to the side slightly and looked up at this human. She had heard of his story, his sordid past, and knew he’d joined the order at the behest of the Inquisitor. “Is that what you’re hoping for? Some miracle cure to get you out of the Wardens?”

Even in the dark she saw his face flush red as he ducked his head, and shook it. “No, not for me. But surely there are others-ones who deserve it.”

“The Hero of Ferelden isn’t any better than a sack of weeks old nug shit,” Svara spat out the words. “She never went looking for a cure and any hopes of finding one are wasted.” The dog whined and Svara scratched her ear before continuing down the road. Rainier matched her stride and she glanced his way. “What do you want?” she asked, annoyed by his presence.

“Do you know where the Hero of Ferelden is?” he inquired. “Lady Nightengale has been searching for her for months without success.” 

Svara snorted quietly. “Is that why you’re out here? Looking for that bitch? She isn’t a hero. She never was. She’s a fraud who is as good as dead. Why don’t you run back to the Nightengale and tell her that?” The words came out bitterly. But they were true. Alistair had been the hero, not her, and it was her fault he was dead.

The dog whined, butting up against Svara’s side and she reached out, soothing her. Thom continued walking beside her, on her right and she wondered if it was intentional, with it being her blindspot. He didn’t speak as they continued along then she turned off the road and made her way through dense underbrush and still, he walked with her. 

Just before they reached her small camp she whirled on him. “What do you want from me?” she demanded.

Thom pursed his lips and rubbed a hand over his bearded jaw. Absentmindedly, Svara reached up and rubbed her fingertips over her own jaw, felt the stubble there. She never should have shaved her beard off this time. But she’d been curious about the dark veins, had wanted to see how bad they were, and had been unable to tell dark hair from the tar-black lines. 

For a moment her mind went back to that night so many years ago, the first time she’d ever shaved her face clean, in some inane attempt to impress Alistair, because no human would want a woman with more facial hair than him. Only he’d been confused and then she’d been mortified.

“You’re planning on going into the deep roads,” he said pulling her from her thoughts. 

Svara blinked up at him and then shrugged one shoulder. “That’s what we Wardens do. Noble death and all that.” And she had put it off long enough. She was so tired and hoped that there might be peace in the end. Hoped that in whatever might come after - that she might see Alistair once more. Though she didn’t think she truly deserved that bit of joy, not when her own selfishness had been what got him killed. 

_ It was supposed to be me _ , she thought, eyes going distant for a beat. But Alistair had beaten her to the archdemon and taken the choice from her.

Shaking her head she continued to her camp, dropped her bag down beside the firepit and contemplated the effort it would take to start a fire, or if she should just crawl into her tent and go to sleep.

_ Tomorrow _ , Svara decided. Tomorrow she would go into town one last time, sell off everything but her sword and leave the money with the girl. Then she’d go into the deep roads. 

Frowning she watched Thom gathered an armful of wood from the small pile she’d made and set about setting up the pit. “Why are you still here?” Svara considered drawing her sword, but she didn’t think that would scare him off.

“Why not look for the cure?” he asked, drawing out flint and steel. “Why let Leliana think that is what you’ve been doing all these years?”

Lip curling she sneered at him. “What makes you think-”

The kindling sparked and Thom coaxed that ember into a flame. “I know a thing or two about self-loathing. You gave yourself away with how you spoke of the Hero-”

“I am not a hero,” Svara ground out between clenched teeth. “I didn’t do anything but stand there and watch Alistair Therin throw himself at the archdemon and die.” The dog made a sound and wormed her way closer until her head rested in Svara’s lap.

“What’s her name?” Thom asked, glancing at the dog as he dug into his pack once the fire was going.

Gently petting her old dog’s head, Svara’s throat felt tight. Because she hadn’t known what to name the beast and had planned on just calling her dog. But Alistair had told her she couldn’t do that. _ “She needs a proper name, like Barkspawn.” _ And Svara had been delighted at the name, laughing for the first time in what had likely been months. “Barkspawn,” she said quietly and tears burned the backs of her eyes. 

Because she couldn’t take her into the deep roads with her. And maybe that was part of why she’d delayed so long. The dog had lived longer than she’d expected, and a part of her had thought the journey to Denerim would finally wear out the old girl’s bones. Only she stubbornly held on, while Svara stubbornly refused to let Barkspawn die fighting. The mabari had earned a peaceful death in her sleep.

Thom chuckled quietly and produced a parchment wrapped package. Opening it partway, he held it out to her and she stared at the biscuits inside. “You didn’t eat at the tavern, did you?”

“Why are you here?” she asked again, this time her voice didn’t hold the anger, she was too tired, too heartsick. Thom shook the package a little and relenting, she reached out to take one of the biscuits, Barkspawn lifted her head and sniffed and Svara broke off half and gave it to her.

“I don’t have anywhere else to be,” he said with a half shrug. 

Quiet for a long moment, Svara reached into her own bag and withdrew the wrapped up dried meat and offered it to the man across from her. 


	2. Chapter 2

Svara frowned as she woke up. The space beside her where Barkspawn always slept was empty. Her heart kicked in her chest, lodged in her throat as she sat bolt upright. Barkspawn never got up and left the tent before Svara. The fear of opening the flap of her tent to find her dog, her only companion for nearly fifteen years, dead had her hesitating. But she had to know, and tears burned the backs of her eyes. She’d thought she was prepared, thought she was ready to let go of her. 

Throwing back the canvas, Svara practically threw herself out of her tent, eyes searching, and then she froze, stared in confusion for long seconds as her mind tried to reconcile what she was seeing. The mabari lay on her back, legs in the air, tongue lolling, blissed out of her mind while Thom sat beside the fire rubbing her belly, crooning gently to her. 

“Who’s a good girl, yes, you are.” He glanced over at her and Svara felt her cheeks flush. “I made coffee,” he said, inclining his head to the pot sitting at the edge of the ashes. When she didn’t make any move toward the fire, or back toward her tent, he reached out, picked up a tin cup, and filled it with the dark, rich brew before holding it out toward her.

Svara eyed it, then her dog. “Traitor,” she groused, but who was she to talk, because she reached out and snatched the mug from his hands before settling unceremoniously down by the fire. Her fingers were cold, a problem she seemed to be having more and more often, no matter how warm it might actually be. Cupping the mug between her hands, Svara brought it up and let her eyes fall shut as she drew in a slow breath. 

Thom didn’t speak and Svara was grateful. She was still trying to figure out why he was still there. His excuse the night before, that he had no place else to be, didn’t warrant his presence that morning. Or the fact that he’d made coffee and was currently cooking breakfast over her small campfire. 

Barkspawn, no longer getting belly rubs flopped over, picked up the massive bone that Svara hadn’t noticed before and padded over to plop down beside her. “Of course, it would be bribery,” Svara chided both dog and man. “Nothing else would get her out of bed before midday.” 

Barkspawn huffed her displeasure and butted her head up against Svara’s arm, nearly causing her to spill her coffee. “Hey,” Svara play shoved the massive beast. “I’ll throw that bone in the lake if you’re going to be a brat.” At that, Barkspawn whined, clamped her jaws around it, and held it protectively between her front paws.

A minute later, Thom handed over a plate and Svara took it and just stared for long moments. It felt wrong, somehow. After so many years alone, she scarcely remembered what it was like to have friends and companions. Not that he was one. No, he was an annoyance that she was only tolerating because he’d made her coffee. And because Barkspawn liked him.

“The food alright?” he asked and Svara looked up at him realizing she’d just been sitting there staring at the plate.

“Sure,” she said and wondered if maybe she’d found a solution to a problem. She was going to go into the deep roads but didn’t want Barkspawn down there with her. Barkspawn liked Rainier. If she waited just a few more days if Rainier stuck around - and she was certain that her loyal dog could live out her days spoiled and cared for. Then she wouldn’t feel any guilt about leaving her behind. 

Thom ate and watched Svara without being blatant, or at least he hoped that was the case. After she had crawled into her tent with her mabari the night before, he’d stayed by the fire, eventually stretching out beside it to sleep. He’d woken before dawn and made his way into Denerim where he made quick work of getting his hands on some eggs and bacon, and as an afterthought, the bone for Barkspawn. 

The old dog had nosed her way out of the tent when Thom had returned and she eyed him and the bone suspiciously for a long time before padding over. “How much do you truly understand?” he asked the dog quietly. “Leliana has been looking for her for months.” She had written to Thom not long ago, with the plea that if he happened to hear word of Svara’s whereabouts, to let her know. 

Thom hadn’t expected to find the Hero of Ferelden in Denerim. He’d simply been passing through. But now, now he couldn’t leave. “I wrote to her,” he said quietly to the mabari who looked up at him and he swore he saw understanding. “To Leliana, told her Svara was here.” 

Those words had seemed to be all that the dog needed. She’d settled beside him, demanded to be pet and Thom wasn’t about to refuse. 

Svara had barely finished half of the food on her plate before she set it down in front of Barkspawn who gave her a sad-eyed look before scarfing down what was left. Thom wondered how much the spread of the taint was hurting her. How much time did she really have left? Hands curled around her mug again, she sipped at the coffee. “Who is the girl at the tavern?” he asked and she looked up at him, for a second her expression startled.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her face going blank again.

“Well,” he said, picking up the coffee pot as he stood. He crossed to her, topped off her mug before settling back down. “When I went in there, she spoke of you, the Hero, I don’t think she knew who you were beyond being a Warden. But the girl said her father had told her stories of knowing the Hero of Ferelden, fighting beside her against Darkspawn.” 

Svara didn’t say anything for long minutes, just stared into her mug as if it held all the answers. “I knew him before I became a Warden - before I got him exiled to the surface.” Then she fell silent again and Thom was curious and he knew he had no business asking. It was obvious she didn’t want to speak with him, to tell him anything about her past.

“Is that why you joined the Wardens?” He thought he remembered hearing that. Something about her being of noble blood. 

Svara let out a snort. “Joined. As if I had a choice. It was that, or dying in the deep roads.” She dropped a hand to Barkspawn’s head and rubbed between her ears. “Death or exile for fratricide.” 

Thom rubbed his palm over his mouth, unsure what to say. “I took money to kill a nobleman. Lied to my men about it. Only-” he swallowed hard, still, to this day, the memories of it haunted him. The boy Cole had once told him, ‘ _ you’d stand between Rainier and the carriage _ ’ and while it had been a slight comfort that he was no longer that man, it didn’t ease the guilt. “Only the man’s family was traveling with him. Wife and children. I’ve regretted it every day since, though, in the beginning, it was regret for what I’d lost. It took a long time to come to terms with what a piece of shit I was… probably still am.” 

Svara was looking at him and he felt his cheeks heating under her intent gaze. He hadn’t meant to confess quite so much but was hoping it might encourage her to tell him more. “My younger brother set me up to take the fall for our elder brother’s murder. Gorim was my second, we were both exiled. He wanted to come with me into the deep roads but they wouldn’t allow it.” 

She took a long drink from the mug and glanced off toward the crevice that lead into the deep roads. “After the blight was over, I decided I’d make the reason for my exile true.” Thom’s brows drew together in question. “I went back and murdered my brother. I had him crowned king during the blight to guarantee his aide when the time came-” The laugh that escaped her was bitter. “I’d always thought we were better than that. Those petty squabbles over power seemed so beneath us. What a fool I was.” 

Svara finished her coffee and pushed up to her feet. She ached down to the bone. Not nearly as agile as she’d once been. “Why are you still here?” she asked Thom.

Tilting his head back he peered up at her. She rested her hands on her hips, silently demanding he tell her the truth. “Why not look for the cure for the Calling?” he countered.

“The Grey Wardens don’t deserve it. Your Inquisitor should have banished them as they were banished from Ferelden all those years ago. King Maric never should have let them return.” 

Frowning, Thom shook his head. “You can’t mean that.” 

“Did you know that there are Wardens who would let entire towns and villages be destroyed by the darkspawn if they believed they could get the upper hand? Countless innocents cut down and they’ll consider it an acceptable loss.” He glanced away, but not before she saw the sorrow in his eyes. “You’re too idealistic, Rainier. You never should have joined the Wardens.” Svara turned away, heading for her tent.

“So none of them deserve a life beyond the Wardens?” he called after her and she stilled, her fingers curled around the tent flap. “No others who were conscripted, or joined blindly thinking of the good they might do? They don’t deserve an escape from the Calling and death in the deep roads?”

Svara’s eyes stung and she was glad she was facing away from him because her face crumpled at his words. “Maybe they do, but I’m out of time,” she said before ducking into her tent and snapping the flap shut. 


	3. Chapter 3

[](https://wardenrainwall.tumblr.com/post/627276754198872064/sad-grey-wardens-svara-aeducan-thom-rainier-and)

[an additional attempt at art ](https://wardenrainwall.tumblr.com/post/627718989183909888/i-have-been-working-on-this-for-daaaays-trying-to)

* * *

Sinking down onto her knees inside her tent, Svara struggled to draw in a breath. _How dare he. How dare he!_ _Thom Rainier was a naive fool who didn’t know the first thing about truly being a Grey Warden._ If he did - She shoved her fist against her mouth, bit down on her knuckles, and clenched her eyes shut or she might just start screaming. 

A cure had been the fanciful dream of two ignorant children playing at saving the world. 

And how dare this stupid man show up and dredge up all this old pain when she was so close to the end. 

Drawing in a shuddering breath, she grabbed her pack, dug inside, and found the small metal box at the bottom. It was relatively simple, though it bore the Aeducan heraldry emblazoned on the lid. A birthday gift from Gorim the year before everything had gone to the Void. 

_ “For all your many jewels, my lady.”  _ She had laughed and kept her collection of beads and rings that she often decorated her hair and beard with inside the pretty little box. When she’d been exiled to death Svara hadn’t been able to take it with her and had only gotten it back after the blight when she’d gone back into Orzammar. She’d found it in her brother’s quarters.

Lifting the lid she peered inside, it no longer held those little rings of gold and silver, but rather a very old piece of parchment, the final letter from her father, and a small bundle wrapped in a fine silk handkerchief. Taking the bundle between careful fingers, she set aside the box and laid it in her palm, slowly peeling back the silk. The rose was nearly dust. The petals brittle as spun sugar.

Svara simply stared at it for long moments before drawing in a breath and carefully wrapping it back up and tucking it into the box once more. 

_ “The girl said her father had told her stories of knowing the Hero of Ferelden, fighting beside her against Darkspawn.” _

Tracing a finger over the Aeducan seal on the top of the box, Svara considered her options. Give it a few days, she felt well enough, the nightmares no worse than they had been the last few months, the calling present but not all-consuming. Gorim’s daughter deserved to know what a brave man her father had been. She could write it down, the tale of his life in Orzammar. He deserved that, and so did his daughter.

Tucking the box safely back into her bag she dressed quickly and tugged on her boots before ducking back out of her tent. Barkspawn was once more in bliss as Rainier showered her with affection. He looked up when Svara appeared and then he was up on his feet, ready to follow. 

Thom woke with a start when something smacked hard into his jaw. He blinked rapidly and was grateful for the nearly full moon. A beast stood over him, teeth bared close to his face and he held his breath, waited, then the beast whined and butted him with her head again. “What is it, Barkspawn?” he asked quietly, listening carefully for any noise but he heard nothing. 

The mabari clamped her teeth carefully on the arm he lifted and tugged, whining louder. “Is it Svara?” he asked, glancing toward her tent, and she yipped quietly, tugging again. “Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming,” he said and she finally stepped over him, but she wasn’t leading him toward her tent.

Thom followed the dog away from the camp, and his heart began beating faster in his chest with every step. She had been in a mood all day. They had left after breakfast, gone into the town where she bought parchment and ink, and then they returned to camp. Svara had spent the day beside the fire writing and burning pages she wrote, her frustration evident and growing with every page she tossed into the fire.

While Thom had played the worst game of fetch with Barkspawn. She had wanted to play, but if he threw the stick too far, she’d huff, flop onto the ground and whine until he went and got it himself. He’d actually heard Svara laugh at that, it had been quiet and short, and when he’d looked at her there had been no sign of amusement, but Thom knew he hadn’t imagined it.

They stepped through the trees and Thom’s breath caught. Svara stood at the blocked off opening to the deep roads. Her hands raised, pressed to the massive boulder. Barkspawn padded over and leaned up against the woman’s side. “Have you ever been in love?” Svara’s words caught Thom off guard.

He coughed and reached up to rub his hand along his jaw. “Uh- no,” he admitted. He’d had infatuations, lusted after a handful of people, but he didn’t imagine he’d ever known what it was to love someone, not in the way she meant. 

She was quiet for long seconds and Thom wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s so loud,” she whispered, tipping her head back. “I should go, I’ve been here for two months, but I can’t bring myself to do it. You’d think after all these years, after all I’ve done, I wouldn’t be afraid to die. I wasn’t afraid fifteen years ago when I faced down the archdemon. But now-” she fell silent and Thom slowly moved closer. 

The dark lines that traveled up her throat and along her cheek seemed even darker and Thom wasn’t sure what that meant. “What changed?” he asked quietly when it seemed like she wouldn’t continue. 

Svara blinked, turned her face to look at him and he met her gaze, held it. Stared into the milky eye that seemed to see right into his soul. “You believe in the Maker?” she asked and he hesitated but inclined his head. “I don’t. I- had always thought I’d return to the stone, but then after the exile, that was no longer an option. After everything… Bhelen, he said he was going to reinstate me into the family for my heroics. Then I killed him. I won’t be returned to the stone. I won’t walk beside the Maker. Alistair, he, he believed-” she broke off, tears suddenly rimming her eyes. “So long as I breathe, there is the hope that in whatever comes next, I’ll see him again, only- I won’t. I’ve been alone all these years, I’ll be alone there too.”

Thom watched Svara for a moment then slowly reached out and covered one of her hands that rested on the stone with his own. Her fingers felt like ice and he wasn’t sure if that was due to the taint, or because she’d been standing out here for so long. “I don’t know what comes after we die, but what I believe to the pit of my soul, is that we get to see the ones we loved once more. That there is peace in the end.” 

Svara blinked a few times as she stared up at him, her brows drawn together as if she were trying to decide whether she should believe him or not. He did truly believe that when a person died they got exactly what they deserved. Someone like Svara, who had saved the world, whose good outweighed the bad, would find that peace and happiness in seeing long lost loved ones again. Himself, on the other hand, he’d never be able to overbalance the horrendous crimes he’d committed, so he would likely rot in the void for all eternity. 

“You should rest, come sit by the fire,” he said, curling his fingers around hers, he drew her hand away from the wall.

“Why are you here?” she asked quietly as she let him lead her back toward camp. 

Thom didn’t reply immediately. It was a question she kept asking that he kept avoiding. In truth, he was hoping to keep her from going into the deep roads before Leliana was able to contact her. She sat down beside the fire, Barkspawn at her side, and Thom grabbed his blanket and draped it around her shoulders before kneeling down to build up the fire once more. “Because no one should die alone,” he finally said looking up at her through the flames. 

_ No one should die alone. _

Svara had been alone for so long, going out of her way to distance herself from her former companions, from those who she had called friends. And now this man was here as if he belonged. 

She wasn’t sure if she believed his words, his fanciful ideas of what came after. It seemed as if it were all too much to hope for. But she felt a strange pang of pity for him. For never having loved. Svara was lucky, she’d loved Gorim and he’d loved her. Even knowing that she’d never be allowed to truly be with him, she’d accepted that. She didn’t want children, hadn’t needed to continue the Aeducan line, that duty would have fallen to Trian and she was content with that. 

Finding Gorim in Denerim after their exile, when he’d told her he was married and expecting a child had hurt far more than she’d ever anticipated.

Her relationship with Alistair had been something tentative and new. When Morrigan had come to her with a solution to one of them dying taking on the archdemon, but that solution was Alistair laying with her, producing a child, Svara had balked. If they both survived, she’d been so certain that he’d leave her for someone who could give him a child.

But Svara knew if she died, then Alistair could go on, could live. He could have married Anora produced heirs and lived a life as King of Ferelden. Only Alistair had foiled her plans and left her living in misery and regretting her decision. At least then he’d be alive. Even if he would have left her, he’d be alive, and maybe then she wouldn’t be so afraid of dying now.

A tear rolled down her cheek and Svara flinched when Thom pressed a warm mug into her hands. “It’s only water, with a splash of whiskey.” She reached up and quickly wiped away the tear before cupping her hands around the mug and bringing it up to let the steam warm her face.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

_ No one should die alone _ . Thom’s words were a quiet echo in her mind as he settled on the other side of the fire once more. 

How many other Wardens had been in her same position? Knowing the end was close and yet being too afraid to take that last step? 

If there was a cure, it would be different.

Svara sipped from her mug and then stared down into it.  _ But I’m out of time, _ she thought. There was no time for her to go galavanting around Thedas in search of a cure. She peered across the fire to Thom, who drank from his own mug. But maybe, she could set him onto the path for the cure.


End file.
